Chapter Twenty Nine

Neville Longbottom was afraid of many things. At the moment, he couldn't remember any of the other things he was afraid of. His entire attention was completely and utterly absorbed by the feelings he was currently experiencing. He was afraid of heights. He was standing at the edge of the roof of a house, a very tall, run-down clapboard house that sat on a very high hill and lightening had begun to flash very close by. He held the Firebolt tightly in a clenched shaking fist. As a matter-of-fact, he was shaking all over. Holding the Firebolt was the only thing that kept him mentally connected to his goal as he stared down at the ground below. I've got to get this to, Harry, he mumbled.

He'd come very close to dropping it when he had landed and a Dementor had drifted nearby. The icy cold shock of having the creature so close and the sinking sickening feeling of despair had overwhelmed him. He closed his eyes and chanted a mantra silently to himself, Harry needs me, Harry needs me.

Something had driven or attracted the Dementor away from the roof. Neville watched it swoop towards the small-very small-village at the base of the hill. He took a deep breath and began to side-step along the very narrow edge of the roof, in-between attic windows. He pushed each one with one hand and clung to the broom with the other. It did not occur to him to use the broom he held in his hand to transport him from window to window.

Finally, an oval window swiveled inward and he clambered through the opening and fell to the dusty floor in the darkness. Thunder clamored near the house and he caught himself counting…One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand. He remembered that his grandmother had taught him to do that, saying it was a way to determine how close the storm was getting. He had been afraid of thunder, too.

A thestral carrying a dark robed figure circled the house and passed the window just as Neville's foot slipped through it. The creature and its' rider cast a huge shadow over the dusty pane; but just barely. It was growing dark and the sun was beaten back by the marching bank of clouds. The attic was shrouded in gloom.

Neville glanced around at his surroundings just barely discernible. His mouth went dry. He was afraid of the dark.

He rolled over, raised himself to his knees and then his feet and clutched the broom in one hand and drew his wand out with the other. He cautiously took a step and then another and another, but did not light his wand. I have to save him. He would do the same for me, he reminded himself when he felt his foot touch something soft in the dark, when a cold draft caressed his cheek or a creak in the floor boards announced some boggart or ghoul rattling around in the dusty attic.

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Harry straightened with some difficulty in the chair and felt as if small razor sharp knives were piercing his bones. He remembered most of what had happened, but had not been fully aware when the snake had swallowed the rather large fat rat. He stared at the snake casually, unafraid of it and listened as footsteps moved down the hall. He knew there was no sense in struggling or running around the room desperately trying to escape.

He was not surprised when Lucius Malfoy and Antonin Dolohov entered the room, with their wands pushing Severus Snape before them. Harry recalled a voice saying to him, "Your friends have come to save you, and the Potion's master, Snape is here, too."

Snape was forced to his knees, and Dolohov shoved his head down until it almost rested on his chest. Malfoy glanced at Harry once and then stood like a guard next to the kneeling figure. Dolohov stood to the other side and also waited silently.

This must mean he is coming, Harry thought. Voldemort is about to arrive. He felt the vial next to his skin, hiding beneath his shirt. It's still there, he said to himself with relief. The relief lasted a moment. A searing pain sizzled across his forehead as if he were being branded. His automatic response was to gag and begin to retch, but he held it back. He lost his grip on the chair and also swooned to his knees. Oh yes, he thought, the Dark Lord is coming.

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The low moan of an engine cut through the rumbling of thunder in the distance. A person stopped at a window of their snug cottage and cocked an ear to the sound, and then moved into the lounge and balanced a teacup on the sofa's arm while they switched on the telly to watch the evening news.

The motorcycle came in for a neat landing just outside of town and rolled to a silent stop in front of the café. Straddling the bike as a rider, was an immensely huge man with a full beard and a tangle of hair that almost covered his face. What peeked out were a pair of dark sparkling eyes and ruddy-red cheeks. Behind him, a rather regal looking man with a full white beard and long white hair stepped off the bike adjusted his dark cloak and long robes and turned to enter the café. It was the only building on the street that had an inviting light glowing from its' windows.

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Hermione followed her intuition and instead of using the stairs, that were more than likely guarded, had instead found a dumbwaiter. It was in a recess at the back of the kitchen and it could hold two people. She tried the rope that pulled it to the floors above and it moved smoothly. She then examined the floor and decided that it was safe. She motioned to Ron to join her, while she whispered fervently into the ears of Seamus Finnegan, Susan Bones and Luna Lovegood.

Luna moved away into the dark and Susan and Seamus stayed at the base of the dumbwaiter as Hermione closed the door and waved her wand at the rope pulley. She and Ron began a slow ascent to the upper floors, crowded into the lift, with her sitting on his lap.

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The first drops of rain began to fall, kicking up puffs of dust on the open ground. A long, low, black limousine, shy of any chrome, its' windows black eyes staring out, rolled down the road and stopped at the foot of the stairs leading to the mansion. The door opened and a robed figure stepped into the roadway, the black leather polished boots the person wore left no tracks in the soft powdery soil. Two figures followed it. Instead of stepping from stair to stair, they seemed to glide.

One of them glanced back down the hill, its' face was pale and sharp teeth protruded from its ruby red lips. It was the figure of a man, but was not a man. No creature with that face could be a living man.

"Woodrow, keep up," the lead person said, "or I shall rid myself of you at my leisure and have you staked out in the sun at dawn so I can watch you burn while I have my breakfast."

The vampire snarled, curling his lip at one edge and pulled his cloak around him. The rain began to fall with some urgency and the lightening was now crackling overhead.

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The two elderly men sat at the rather cheery table with its red and white checked tablecloth and the blue willow tea service. Aberforth Dumbledore spooned marmalade onto scones and took a bite, chewing enthusiastically and happily. He didn't appear to be listening to the conversation that his brother was having with the woman that sat with them.

"You have seen the movie films that I have sent to you?" Albus asked, his blue piercing eyes following every blink of her eye, every motion her mouth made or didn't make.

"Yes," she drawled, her eyes refusing to meet his. He mouth was set in a thin determined line, very much like a strict, prim and proper school marm in charge of unruly students.

"The proof is evident, Mrs. Dursley," Albus said softly. "You sister risked her life many times, sacrificed her life to protect you and your son. She did not murder your parents. In fact, she herself was murdered by the man that committed that horrible crime. He is about to do that very thing to your nephew, and, many others. Do you have so little care in your heart that you would allow that to happen?" His own voice had become stern.

"What is it you expect of me? You said yourself that the police would not be able to do anything. What are your people doing? Don't they have the mag…magic to take care of this?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "We cannot do this without you. The spell your sister cast upon you will protect you."

She shivered and shook her head violently.

"Why is it that you are so afraid of us…of magic?" Albus asked , his voice again softened with concern.

She glanced up into his eyes and stopped her restless movements. The eyes hardened. "My father loved her! He thought that her…her being a witch was a wonderful. I hated him! He never, not once, ever said anything about what I had done; about my marks at school, about anything. He was a senile old fool! Magic! Witches and wizards!" She almost shrieked out the last and turned her eyes to her hands that lay on the table. The waitress stepped back into the kitchen, alarmed by her patron's obvious distress.

"You are not without magic of your own, Petunia," Albus said touching the table with his index finger while Aberforth stopped chewing and stared at Petunia.

Her head came up and she frowned. "What?! What do you mean?"

Albus nodded, "It is there. It is not strong, but it is there."

She laughed harshly and then growled, "Well I don't need it! It's a bit late for it don't you think?"

"And because of this anger you hold onto, you neglected your sister's child?" Albus asked. He saw her shoulders pull back and the hardness return in her face. "That's right, Petunia. Harry has been neglected and much more. He is not your sister. Your father favored Lillian and neglected you and so you thought you would pay her back for that pain; that you would pay them both back. He was an innocent child when I brought him to you Petunia and you gave as little of yourself as you could manage."

She stared back at him, her jaws clenched. "I kept my promise to you. I took him in," she managed to say as she gritted her teeth.

"I know you loved your sister," he responded, leaning in across the table from her. "In your heart, you loved her and you loved your father and she died for you. Are you so cruel that you cannot let the dead rest; that you will let Harry die so that you can have your revenge?" He shook his head slowly and laid his hands on the table. "I have lived a long time and I have never known someone like you. Even the man that killed your parents and your sister does not have such a cold heart."

Aberforth dropped his hands in his lap and clear crystal tears began to form in his blue eyes and run down his cheeks. He stared at his brother and then turned to Petunia Dursley and sat silently, crying.

She looked at both of them. "What happens to my son, to my family, if I do this?"

Dumbledore stared back. "As I explained in my letter Petunia, your sister protected you with her life. Now you will either do this or you won't, but I will have your answer now."

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Dark, ephemeral figures began to drift through the headstones of the graveyard as it grew dark and began to rain. They drifted towards the house on the hill, keeping out of sight and silent. Very few eyes could see them or follow them, and no muggle eyes dared look.

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Voldemort entered the room with a swish of his long cape. Pettigrew was not there to assist him with it and the man that stood behind caught it as it was dropped to the floor.

"Where is that rat?" Voldemort said angrily, as he glanced at the kneeling Snape and Harry. He turned to the man. "Find him and bring him to me." The man bowed once and left the room. The vampire that had accompanied them stood in the shadows beside the fireplace mantel.

Malfoy and Dolohov remained in the place they had taken upon entering the room, and had kept their heads bowed.

Voldemort began to pace up and down the room in front of Harry. "Well, shall we have a chat?" he asked. The room remained silent. "Ah, not in a chatting mood? Well, we shall see. I do hate to kill you, Mr. Potter, as I find that it is a necessary thing. You see I do know about the Prophecy, the entire prophecy, from this imbecile Malfoy," The hand shot out and gestured at Lucius. "It took a bit of doing but he managed to gather the information I have so long sought. It is a weakness of his that I have discovered. He leaves things half-done and I am then forced to finish the job," Voldemort mused and stopped in his pacing to stand before Harry.

Harry looked up through squinting eyes at the figure before him.

"Oh we can't have this," Voldemort gasped in mock horror. "You must see my face when this happens, as your mother and father did when I killed them, particularly, when I killed that Mudblood witch- your mother. Oh, you should have seen her. Begging me, pleading with me- 'kill me, kill me, but not my son!'" He sang the words in a high-pitched voice and grinned. With a sweep of his hand the glasses that had lain shattered on the floor were repaired and literally flew to Harry's face. "I do dread killing you boy." The voice had grown cold. "Such raw material wasted. As we both have found out, we have many things in common; we are so alike. We seemed to have rubbed off on each other." He threw back his head and cackled.

"I will never be like you!" Harry coughed wetly.

"If you would only consider joining me," Voldemort continued his face now sober and grim. "I will give you a second chance to think about doing so. Better you, then these sorry imbeciles I have, who have managed to bungle just about every task set before them. Did you like trying to kill Lucius, Harry? Sticking the knife in, feeling his blood run over your hands; smelling it?" The face grinned evilly down at him again. "I will make you my protégé, Harry Potter. Together, with our powers we will change the face of the world. I will give you a chance to think about it, but do not take long. My patience has worn thin."

He stepped over to Malfoy and Dolohov and stared down at the head of Severus Snape. "Severus," he crooned. "Such depths of deceit, such disloyalty and for so many years. I almost admire you more now that I have become aware of your actions. You did it with such grace and aplomb. It will be a shame to kill you now. However, I will enjoy doing it myself. Never fear, old friend, it will take a long time." The man hissed and his pet snake raised her head off the floor. Snape did not move or speak.

"Now," Voldemort continued. "There are important matters to address. But I am a man who is long-suffering, if not forgiving, and we must wait for all the players to enter the stage. This time there will be no mistakes." He turned and gestured at Malfoy who immediately disappeared from the room. He then sat himself in a large carved wood chair and faced the fire, his face revealed in its dying embers.

Snape studied the floor and waited. There would be a moment when he could act. The trick was in determining when that moment was. Whatever Lupin had hoped to do, Severus knew that it needed to be soon. He was able to see the boy out of the corner of his eye. He could also feel the scalding pain that had splintered his skull the moment Voldemort entered the building. It was in the same place as the boy's scar. Snape nodded to himself. So they are linked, just as he and I and Lupin are now connected. Severus also felt the boy's aches and pain added to his own and he knew that they were not in a good fighting state. He protected his mind now that he knew that the Dark Lord could penetrate his thinking. He willed himself to study the fire flickering before his eyes and empty his mind. He felt rather than saw Potter doing the same. They barely heard the voice beside them.

"Lucius told me of the girl, the Mudblood who possessed him, how they shared each others mind for a time. It was a strange thing that I had not heard of in my years of learning, most probably a dark spell that escaped me. I shall be pleased when the girl is before me again and we can discuss it. However, that is beside the point. It was a very informative thing. We have finally learned of Sybil Trelawney's prophecy in its' entirety. Such a simple prophecy it was, too. I kill you Harry or you kill me. You are, however, hardly in a position to kill me, so I think that little problem is almost resolved." Voldemort's voice droned on.

"And then, the boy, the red-haired boy passed on even more information, and then later, at my urging, divulged more. He helped to complete the picture that I was trying to put together. Ahhh, the puzzle! Delightful to figure it all out." Voldemort collapsed his fingers together and touched his index fingers to his white lips. He did not look amused.

He glanced at Severus. "And such a story it was! Two lovers joined together; one a mud-blood witch and the other a pureblood. Hard to believe, but it is true. And together they produced a child. A child that they protected with the darkest of magic. And they managed to keep a secret even from the Ministry. Which was quite a feat! My own man did not know of their existence." Voldemort snarled and shook his finger at Snape. "One of my favorite Death Eaters who I thought served me so loyally, who found the ingredients and concocted a potion that he knew I desired, yearned for withheld it from my grasp." The white thin fingers curled into a fist as Voldemort stared at Snape.

Harry heard the words and rolled his eyes to Snape when Voldemort said, 'and together they produced a child'.

Snape stared back and mouthed the words, 'Legilimency.' At once, his voice was there, in Harry's mind. "Do not believe what he says. He is a master of lies. Trust me, Potter." Harry nodded slightly. Snape continued, "When the time comes, do exactly what I say, when I say it. Don't hesitate, or it will be the death of us all. Do you understand?"

Harry looked back at the Dark Lord and asked, one and only question, "Are you my father?"

Snape shook his head so slightly that it was barely perceptible.

"Strip him down!" Voldemort snarled. "Search him carefully." While they had been listening to each other Voldemort had been talking about the potion.

Snape was knocked to his side and his cloak and shirt were torn from him. He lay on the dusty floor in his black trousers while Dolohov used his wand to pummel him and beat him during the search.

Lucius Malfoy entered the room. "Master, there are wizards outside. They are preparing to attack, I think!"

Voldemort glared at him. "How many?"

"Numerous; uncountable at this time," Lucius said, quickly.

Thunder boomed overhead and lightening lit the room, illuminating Voldemort's face. He turned to Harry. "Time to choose Harry."

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"A battle is about to begin, Mrs. Dursley," Albus said, very grimly. "I must go and join it. There is a vehicle outside that will take you back home. I must apologize for it, but it is the only thing that is available. However, it will take you there and the person who drives it is a trusted friend. He will make sure you are safe."

She stared at him as he rose. Aberforth joined him immediately and waited for his brother to leave. Albus looked back at her. "It is one battle in a war. If we lose, it will effect everyone in such a way that those who survive may not recognize the world they live in. Be aware Petunia; our worlds touch one another. You may not know or see what happens, nor will the innocent people of this village, or the people in your world; at least not for a time. But the days of evil and darkness will come to you. There will be a night that falls and there will be no dawn." The blue piercing eyes stared for a moment longer and then he turned and left, followed by his brother.

The waitress saddled up to the table and stared out of the window. "Strange fellows those are," she said and picked up a teacup. "They belong to some religious group or sumpthin'?"

Petunia glanced at her and shook her head slowly.

"Are you done then? We best be closing' soon," the girl said.

Petunia nodded and stood. Her purse was stuck to the palms of her hands by her sticky perspiration. She looked out at the motorcycle; at the gigantic, hairy man that straddled it. As she left the café, the lights immediately went out and she was left looking back over her shoulder at the blank staring windows. She turned to Hagrid. He smiled kindly.

"I won't be needing the ride," she finally said. She stared up at the hill, now more ominous because of the black clouds that hung over it. "I have to pay a visit to someone."

"Right ya are then," Hagrid said, and started up the motor of the cycle. He headed down the street and turned a corner out of sight. The sound was immediately muffled by a clap of thunder. Rain began to fall. The street lamps seemed to dim until the avenue was a dark empty corridor. She started walking slowly up the street to the steps.

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Two cats entered the house through a broken ground-floor window. The tabby left the orange cat to sit in the dark and watch the grounds from the window while she took the steps up through the house. She was quick and silent and managed to make the third floor easily even in the dark. She heard the voices even as she saw the feet of the man approaching. She slipped through a crack in a door and turned and watched as the silver-haired man passed. She opened her mouth and hissed silently, ears back in displeasure.

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A hand reached out in the dark and grabbed Neville by the cloak. He was so frightened that he could not scream. He instinctively clutched the Firebolt tighter. A voice whispered in his ears, "It's Remus Lupin. Don't speak."

Neville nodded so violently at the instructions that he shivered all the way to his toes. He twisted his head so he could look at the man who stood behind him. And then, he caught scream before it exited his mouth by clamping his hand tightly over his lips and biting down hard.

A pair of eyes that seemed to have an internal light source glowed at him from the dark. He could hear a snuffing sound as if a nose was testing the air and there was a musky smell, like a wet dog. A throaty growl erupted from the man's throat. "This is a dangerous place for you Neville. Why are you here?"

After a moment, Neville lifted the Firebolt to show to the man who had lit his wand to a pinprick of light. "To bring Harry his Firebolt," he managed.

Lupin frowned slightly and nodded once, then put out the light. "Who am I to question," he murmured. "Stay here and don't move!" With uncanny sense, the man walked across the attic in the pitch dark and left Neville by himself. Neville was afraid of dogs and even more than that; terrified of werewolves. No matter how much he liked Lupin, the man that had stood there a moment before was not his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor anymore. Neville couldn't decide if he were in more danger from Lupin or Voldemort and didn't have time to think about it. He walked in approximately the same direction Lupin had taken and found a staircase leading to the lower floors. When he stepped down on the landing of the lower level he reached his free hand out in the dark searching for some identifying marker. His hand touched a very solid, soft object that breathed. This time Neville did let out a scream. It was a vampire called Woody who had him by the collar.

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The residents of Little Hangleton would meet the next bright and sunny morning to discuss the previous evening's weather. Some would remark about the color of the various lightening strikes-some green, some red- that were very much like Roman candles going off. Others; too fearful of the sounds that emanated from the tallest hill that overlooked town, quietly slipped into bed, or turned the volume on their televisions up louder the previous evening and remained silent at breakfast.

Some switched from tea to something with a little more bite to it on that morning, not caring that it wasn't even close to noon.

If someone had taken a notion to walking through the graveyard the night before, and no one did except the caretaker; they would have noticed the scorch marks on marble and the bits and pieces blasted away from the mausoleums and monuments, and they would wonder at it.

"Such a 'orrible storm it was," they would remark and someone might whisper, "Aye, the Devil was dancing last night."